


Let Go

by Artemis_Dreamer



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Breakup, FrostIron - Freeform, M/M, Manipulative! Loki, POV First Person, Relationship built on lies, Swearing, Tony Stark really did have a heart, stream-of-consciousness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-23
Updated: 2013-10-23
Packaged: 2017-12-30 05:12:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 998
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1014521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Artemis_Dreamer/pseuds/Artemis_Dreamer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Tony reflects on the three words that he said that ended his relationship, and then remembers that said relationship was really just a trickster's game.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Let Go

**Author's Note:**

> Please Understand:
> 
> This is an attempt at first-person stream-of-consciousness. Therefore, no dialogue, sorry.
> 
> It also may not be the best fic for Loki fans, as it sort of portrays him negatively.
> 
> Also, it might be a bit OOC, as Angst has never been my forte. 
> 
> I tried.

I can’t let go.

I wanted you because they said I couldn’t have you. Wanted you because you were my first serious and sort-of-committed relationship. I thought that you’d never let me go. I wanted so badly, because amid the alcohol and the hero work, you were my only constant.

The repulsors in my suit failed, and I reached for your hand where it’d always been. It wasn’t there – you let me fall. No. You pushed me away, accelerating my fall because you loathed me just that plain much. 

Are you happy now? I’m fucked up and dying inside. I might as well be dead on the outside too; I haven’t eaten in five days, I’ve drunk enough scotch to float the fucking Hellicarier, and I doubt that I’ve washed in weeks. I have no strength to do anything but miss you. I just sit there, stare at a blank TV screen, and cry. 

At least I try to cry. I feel like crying. Truth is, I’ve cried for so long that I don’t have any tears left, not even for you.

Yes, I cried. You, the God of Mischief, were the only one in thirty-five years to make me cry, to break through to my actual feelings. You went beyond my public face. You saw who I really was, and I wasn't good enough for a god.

Are you happy now? I’m gone. You don’t have a charming genius billionaire in your life to distract you, frustrate you, or make you feel anything at all. 

I want to believe that you’ll miss me being there to entertain you and pamper you, but then I remember that you’re the also the God of Lies. It was an act, all of it. Earth was dull and boring for you, [I] Princess[/I]. 

Up yours. 

Every so often, JARVIS will speak, an artificial voice asking me to come out and face the world again. But it isn’t your voice, and yours is the only voice that I want to hear. 

I guess – I know – that you couldn’t give a damn. I loved you. Hell, I still love you, even after you ripped out my arc reactor, crushed it into scrap metal, and then threw it through the windshield of my Maserati. As much as I hate myself for feeling this way, I miss you, with all that’s left of me. You don’t deserve to be missed, but I can’t help myself.

You thought it was fucking pathetic, didn’t you. You laughed when I finally told you, said that no mortal could ever be worthy of your love, that you would never reciprocate what I felt. Then you told me to ‘remove myself from your presence’, called me something that sounded like ‘quim’, and that was it. 

I broke down, just plain broke. Even the Mark VII couldn’t keep me from collapsing into a useless fucking heap.

I still can’t believe that all of this was over three simple words; “I love you”.

All that, and you couldn’t take the high road.

I heard all of those bitchy, petty things that you’ve been telling the scandal mills. I didn’t mean to overhear, but when you decide to go telling your silver-tongue bullshit lies to every gossip paper in the whole damn city, it’s a bit hard not to hear. 

I’m nothing but a heartless womanizer, you said. You called me a waste of good looks, claimed that I was the one who broke YOUR damn heart. You say I’ll never truly learn to feel, and never amount to more than what I already am – a rich narcissist who may or may not have syphilis. 

You know what? You’re an asshole. 

I was the one who kept you on team when you through your little pissy fits, gave you every chance, even when it was my own ass on the line with Fury. Every single thing that I did was for you. I tried to save you from yourself (and all of the bastards that you always managed to piss off).

I still have the scars from Doom, and my bank account’s still four million lighter from all the shit I bought you while you led me on.

Sorry I wasn’t the lover of your dreams. Sorry I tried to make you feel.

Oh, that’s right. You’re such a talented fucking trickster that you figure that you can sweet-talk anyone you want into falling for you and giving you absolutely everything. Why the hell would you stick around when you’d already gotten all you wanted?

You’d had your fun.

Never mind that I wanted. Never mind that you were the best I ever had, no joke. Never mind that it’s been three months and I still feel the pain like it was yesterday. Never mind anything, apparently.

I want to tell you that I don’t give a shit. That I care less about you than about Hammer Tech. That you can rot in hell for all that I care, and that I’m better off without some parasitic god. I want to say all of that, but I can’t. It isn’t true.

I think – I know – that I loved you. I still do. You’ll never see that, and you’ll never care.

I want to say that in a few more weeks, I won’t remember. Remember the sound of your laugh, all that tight leather, or the feeling of your tight ass around my cock.

I want to say that I’m going on some vacation, to get you out of my head with a week in Vegas and two at the mansion.

Ha. Vacation. That’s a laugh. I’ll be lying here forever, in a perpetual drunken stupor – Pepper would be pissed, if I hadn’t shoved her out of the picture just because you asked. You’re the first one who meant more to me than sex. 

Even though you treated me like shit, you know what?

I still want you.

I still can’t let go.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading.
> 
> I'm sorry that it wasn't anything happier, anything to bring a smile to your face.
> 
> Any feedback is appreciated.


End file.
